


la jolla

by qar



Series: MCYT Requests [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: A little, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, IRL Fic, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, but it’s written in character, its just always there, my tag, not much here honestly, positive ending because everything will get better, spiritual successor to jubilee line, that was my best fic tbh, vent - Freeform, yet again not much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27383620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qar/pseuds/qar
Summary: Tommy is sixteen, and he's fine.inkstainedmemories asked for "anything similar to ur jubilee line fic bc that was real comforting in a depressing way," and boy i am sad and here to deliver.Disclaimer:If any of the creators mention they are uncomfortable with these types of fics I will take this down.
Relationships: TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: MCYT Requests [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982966
Comments: 38
Kudos: 1129





	la jolla

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkstainedmemories](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkstainedmemories/gifts).



> TW for suicidal thoughts and (accidental) cutting (not very graphic)

People ask him how he’s feeling sometimes. Tommy isn’t lying when he says he’s fine.

He feels fine pretty often. It’s living life in a gray haze, with nothing being particularly happy or sad. No extreme emotions. He’s fine.

Because Tommy _knows_ what sad is like, what angry is like, what happy is like- he’s experienced it all, and still does. His heart will ache when he sees another Youtuber he looks up to diss him, and he’ll seethe with rage when Tubbo cries because of a hate comment on a bad day, and he’ll grin with joy when he’s complimented by Phil on a stream he isn’t even in. He’ll jump with fear at any random jumpscare that’s sent to him, and he’ll try not to throw up when someone sends him weird stories about him. He’s felt everything. And he knows when he’s fine.

Being fine is none of those. It’s like all his emotions are dialed down to a one; things that would upset him don’t, and things that’d make him happy also don’t. Tommy honestly hates the feeling; but it’s what he feels most of the time. When he streams he forces the emotion dial back up to eleven.

He thinks about it sometimes. There used to be days when he felt everything normally all the time; where he’d react to everything appropriately, be it with tears or laughter. He doesn’t anymore. Every reaction he has is TommyInnit, boy star, and TommyInnit is over-exaggerated, over-dramatic and fake. All the reactions he _doesn’t_ have- those are just Tommy.

He’s never felt more disappointing.

He goes to therapy for the sad, and he doesn’t ever really realise he isn’t fine. Being in such a numb state for so long had made it feel like the new normal. It doesn’t stop him from hating it.

~~~

Some days are good.

He’ll wake up and appreciate the weather; observe the colors outside his window and under his feet when he walks Betty. He’ll giggle when his mum ruffles his hair, and think about how lucky he is to have his family. He’ll shed the layers of sweaters he’s taken to wearing while talking to his friends, and it’ll be warm.

He’ll try to find joy in the little things and move on from the bad. He’ll find new socks he’d lost in his cupboard and put them away neatly for later. He’ll filter specific words from his Twitter feed so he doesn’t get overwhelmed. He’ll beam when Wilbur calls him to join a call in Big Smuc, and the smile won’t leave his face for hours later. He’ll be proud of himself when he picks up his collection of coke cans and dumps them in the trash.

Those days are nice. Those days his heart fills up, and he milks the small things for as long as he can, using them as motivation. They get old, some days.

~~~

Tommy’s on call when he realises he isn’t fine.

They’ve just finished a stream, and he’s talking to Phil, Wilbur, Techno and Tubbo. Sleepy Bois Inc. and Tubbo. Tommy’s feeling okay; he’d entered his post-stream mood, and he’s slumped over in his chair, fiddling with a screwdriver and a sharpener as he watches Phil, Tubbo and Wilbur’s over-exaggerated movements. Techno’s camera is off, but he chimes in with dry commentary. They’re all exhausted.

Tommy twists the screw in the sharpener absently. He’s not sure what they’re talking about; he hasn’t been paying attention.

_left right left right_

“-that was kinda weirdchamp-“

_left left right right_

”-it was definitely funny-“

_left left left_

One screw falls into his hand, and he drops it on to the table carefully before lodging the tool into the other one.

”-right?”

_right left right left_

”-you two did great-“

_right right left left_

”Tommy?”

Tommy jerks his head up, shaking his fair hair out of his eyes. “Pardon?”

_right right right_

“Oh, I was saying you and Tubbo did great today,” Wilbur says.

_left left left_

”Hit your record of viewers today, right?” Techno questions. Tommy nods.

_left left left_

“That’s our boys,” Phil says, smiling at his camera. Tommy ducks his head, grinning slightly. Tubbo laughs.

“Tommy’s been doing great!” Tubbo says. “He’s like, famous and shit now. Talks about Pokimane constantly.”

”Women,” Tommy says sagely. “And you’ve been doing great too.”

Tubbo flushes, and the others shift their conversation to Tubbo’s streams. The second screw drops out of the sharpener, and Tommy ducks under his desk to grab it. The metal object falls out of his hand, and he swears.   
  
He snatches up the screw and the body of the sharpener and returns to his desk, hair ruffled, and he’s about to continue fiddling before he realises he’s forgotten the blade. He ducks back under and reaches for the glint of metal.

When he pulls himself back up, he’s holding cold metal in his hand. The others are talking about the next MCC, and Tommy busies himself with fitting the sharpener back together.

There’s red dripping from his hand. 

Tommy isn’t good with blood, and he freezes when he sees the thick liquid drip onto the table. It doesn’t hurt until Tommy feels the sharp stinging begin, and then he’s all too aware of it. He can’t comprehend anyone talking, although he knows they still are.

The blade is still in his hand, completely clean, and Tommy puts it down with a shaking hand before grabbing a tissue and holding it over the cut. He doesn’t want to look at it.

The panic and pain and nausea he’s felt from looking at this cut is more than he’s felt in a while. He’s given up on most things that make him feel like that; the creepy fans ignored his requests not to ship him, so he’d given up on asking, and he’d desensitized himself in an attempt to stop wanting to vomit when he saw the weird stuff. He’d tried to please all his fans, and given up on it; the panic and misery he felt reading hate he’d blocked out a long time ago. He hasn't felt in control of his own negative emotions in a while. It feels good. Tommy hates it.

“I made a mistake,” Tommy wants to say to his friends. “Please help. I’m not sure how to stop myself from falling.”

”I’ve gotta go,” Tommy says instead. “MotherInnit is calling me. I think we’re going to the shops.”

The others smile at their cameras and wave at him and say their goodbyes, and Tommy presses Shut Down, stands and throws all of the sharpener into the bin. He isn’t going to let himself go.

The one thing Tommy’s always been is strong. Ever since he was a child, tripping over rocks and getting stung by bees, up till now, a teenager with too much fame and too much hate, he’s always been strong. He’d always tried to depend on himself, trying his best to hold back tears as his knees were rubbed with alcohol or his mum bandaged up the stings. He’d always been the one to never back down without a fight, and it always led to detentions and bruised knuckles. He never regretted it.

Maybe the fight was against himself now. He’d win. Even if he didn’t, he’d always get back up.

~~~

Tommy is seven, and he's fallen.

He's playing with Freddie in the other boy's backyard, his mum having kicked them off the computer to play outside. They'd been playing dodgeball, hurling a small basketball around with more strength than needed. Tommy'd thrown himself out of the way, giggling hard, and he'd tumbled against the brick pavement and scraped his knee. The skin was peeling back at places and leaking blood, and Tommy rubs his eyes, grabs Freddie's hand and pulls himself up. They don't tell his mum, and Tommy grits his teeth as he washes the blood off and dabs a tissue against the wound.

It hurts, but it's fine. At least the game had been fun. They went back to it when his knee stopped bleeding.

He doesn't cry. He won't.

Tommy is eleven, and he's gotten into a fight.

The older boy had been bullying a fifth grader, and Tommy'd distracted him enough by being loud and annoying- his usual self. It'd gotten him punched, as it often did, but the younger boy had run and Tommy'd raised his fists in retaliation.

Tommy's knuckles turn purple later. It was worth it.

Tommy is fourteen and he's being bullied.

It doesn't matter. He'll keep making the stupid videos, and he'll show them one day. They'll see.

Tommy is fifteen. He's getting death threats for being too annoying, and too loud and too much.

It's fine. That's TommyInnit, and he's going to be a star. TommyInnit doesn't care, and Tommy thrives on the spite.

Tommy is sixteen.

~~~

People forget that Tommy is sixteen. 

He's the youngest of all his friends, even Tubbo. He's also one of the fastest growing YouTubers out of his friends, and he's also one of the ones who get the most hate.

_he's so loud omg_

_can wilbur just make a video with someoen else asjhdak_

_kys annoying bitch_

_how can one person be so fucking annoying_

_go 2 hell_

_stiop bullying tubbo_

_how the fuck does he have so many subs what_

_literally kys_

Tommy's a teenager. He makes mistakes, and he learns from them. People hate him for the mistakes. He moves on.

He's a teenager. He looks for validation in other's words, and his friends provide. Wilbur will talk about how proud he is of Tommy for hours on end. Phil will always be a message away for advice. Techno shows him that no one is untouchable. Tubbo and Eryn and Freddie are also just teenagers, and he leans on them for support and they lean back.

One day, he holds his phone in his sliced hand, scrolling through the hate comments. Half of them tell him to kill himself. The other half are less cruel. A sharpener taunts him from his desk. A razor sits on his sink.

Tommy rounds up all the sharpeners in his bedroom and throws them in the bin. He locks his razors in the medicine cabinet.

Tommy's always been fueled by spite. Being famous won't change that.

~~~

His next therapy session is in a few days, though, and he doesn't want to call her if he isn't in immediate danger, so he goes to his friends instead. 

He's in a call Wilbur and Phil, the oldest of their little group. The twenty-four year old is discussing his ARG with Phil, who's suggesting things to add. Tommy's gathering his thoughts.

"-and I thought maybe I'd-"

"Guys?" Tommy interrupts. Wilbur stops, and Phil's eyes seem to focus on his screen from where he's leaning back in his chair. "Can.. can I talk to you about something?"

"What is this, a speech?" Wilbur smiles at him teasingly. "Of course."

Tommy grins back nervously, eyes flickering over to Phil's video. The oldest is looking into his screen intently. At Tommy's hesitation he smiles at the camera reassuringly, and Tommy starts. 

"Uh- I. Made a mistake a few days ago, right," he says, absently tucking blond hair behind his ear and rubbing his neck. "While we were on call. And I kind of realised- hey, you know how I go to therapy?"

Phil makes a affirming noise, and Wilbur nods. "So turns out I had- I mean, you guys know already." Tommy stops and looks down. 

"You know we won't judge you for anything," Phil says. Tommy nods. 

"I know," he says. "I just dunno how to put it in words."

There's a short silence as Tommy thinks about it. "I accidentally cut myself," he says. "It's the first time. And it's going to be the last time, because everyone keeps telling me to kill myself and-"

His breath hitches. The others look concerned, and Wilbur opens his mouth. Tommy holds up a hand. It has a thin, pink slice down it. The bandage has come undone. "I'm fucking- I'm stronger than that, right? I-" His voice stops working. Tommy shuts his mouth, and a tear finally drips down his cheek. 

This is the first time he's cried in front of anybody but family in years. He doesn't mind. It's Phil and Wilbur.

"I didn't notice," he says, rubbing his eyes. "I thought I was doing fine."

"I'm glad you trusted us enough to come to us," Phil says. "It's going to get better, okay? Don't listen to the people who says cruel things. They don't know you."

"They don't know you," Wilbur echoes. His eyes look suspiciously wet. "You'll talk to your therapist?"

Tommy nods. "I- just don't understand how I didn't _notice_ ," he says. "I thought I was doing fine. Good, even."

"I mean," Wilbur says. "Some people- a lot of people, when they have mental health issues for a long time- it becomes their new normal. They forget what's it's like being okay." The brown haired man blinks hard, and shakes his head minutely. "Tommy, I swear, you can talk to us any time. We're always here."

Tommy's eyelashes are thick with tears, and he clears them away with a finger. "I know," he says, smile watery. "That's why I asked to talk."

"I can fiddle with your Twitter filters again," Phil says. "So you don't get those tweets."

Tommy's heart warms. Phil's like another dad; he trusts him with his life, at this point. "That'd be appreciated," he says. "You know how to log in."

"I won't snoop," Phil promises. 

They talk for a while more, and Tommy retires to bed when his eyelids are visibly drooping and he falls asleep mid-sentence. It's still fairly early. Emotions take a lot out of him.

He's tired; the dull shades of gray he's been living in have been interrupted by a flash of light, and, like he's always done, he'll drag the happiness from it for as long as he can. For now, he just wants to sleep; he'll go to his therapist soon, and maybe tomorrow he'll check in on some friends.

**Author's Note:**

> this month has honestly been,, very emotionally tolling for reasons I do not know,. writing is great and i love it. love it less when i desperately need to write a fic and my brain won't work but i love it nonetheless.
> 
> yet again, i hope that he never experiences anything like this, and if he does that he gets help. i'm just projecting. if he asks to take stuff like this down please inform me. 
> 
> less fics nowadays due to test week! i,, i have two of my hardest tests tomorrow and i am here, writing a fic. fuck my braain
> 
> Anyways! Kudos, comments and bookmarks are always appreciated. Stay safe everybody!! Love you all! Love yourself and don't forget to reach out to others if you need to. My discord is noorah#7278 if you want to reach out to talk anytime :) 
> 
> (also, hypothetically if i started a discord server for fics, would anybody join??)


End file.
